The Curse
by SheWhoInfectsWithWrtitersBlock
Summary: Britain, more commonly known as England or Arthur Kirklnad, very annoyed after a World Conference, devises a way to get back at his greatest nemesis - France. T-rating 'cause I am paranoid. Will accept prompts, if they interest me.
1. Chapter 1 - The Eyebrows

**Disclaimer: The amazing world of Hetalia does not belong to unawesome me. If it did, this would be in manga, not a fanfiction story!**

**Published: 3 June 2014**

**Edited: 30 June 2014**

**Edited: 1 July 2014**

**AN**

**This story is just a series of short one-shots. There is no plot or story line. I will accept prompts, and reviews are welcome, but not necessary. If you spot a spelling mistake, please notify me, as I will try to fix it if I have time to do so. Also, I switch between human and country names, so be warned!**

**I apologise beforehand for my shitty writing.**

**Warning For The Whole Story: There will be swearing in here, due to Britain and the swearing Italy.**

Britain stormed away from the World Conference in a foul mood. '_That bloody self-absorbed stinking frog! Stupid, useless git! That bloody frog had to write a whole bloody BOOK of bloody insults about my eyebrows!'_ As usual, France and Britain were arguing during the meeting about something inconsequential, when France pulled out a book. The book, as England found to his utmost disgust, was full of insults about England's huge eyebrows. All the insults were new, and were rather creative.

'_It's not my fault Scotland accidentally cursed the lot of us with huge eyebrows! Stupid France, stupid curse, stupid Scotland!_' thought Arthur. '_I'd like to see that ugly frog deal with my eyebrows! HE wouldn't laugh so much then. Really, it is just plain rude to insult someone that much. I mean, a couple of insults is fine, but a whole bloody BOOK?_' Then, Arthur thought of the most perfect idea for revenge. He gave a dark grin that was scarier than Russia's normal creepy smile, as he started to plan the best time to enact his vengeance.

France woke up on the day of the World Conference ready to go and insult Britain. '_Angleterre! Here I come… Prepare to be insulted by the amazing, sexy, me, and maybe today you will admit that I am much better than you!_' France climbed out of his bed, picked out his clothes for the day and then he went in to the bathroom to clean his teeth and brush his hair. France went to the mirror first to admire his reflection and screamed in horror when he saw his reflection in the mirror. Interestingly enough, the scream sounded like that of a little girl - high pitched and loud.

That Night:

England was in his huge basement, standing in a freshly drawn chalk magic circle, chanting an old curse that his brother had invented. Green mist swirled all around him, as the magic curled and eddied around him, taking the shape of the curse. He grinned as he felt the magic reach out through the earth and attach itself to the target. Mission Accomplished! Britain laughed out loud in delight. He couldn't wait to see France in the morning. Chortling, England went to bed. After all, the World Conference was tomorrow and it wouldn't do to miss it, not after all the effort he had put in cursing France - after all, what fun was it to exact revenge and not see the results? No fun at all! Britain fell asleep with a malicious smile on his face.

France scuttled across the corridors, hiding behind potted plants and sneaking around the corners, taking great care in not being seen until necessary or it was completely unavoidable. He was white as a sheet as he was about to walk in to the room the conference would take place in. France was not looking forward to the prospect of everyone seeing him with his new… additions. He looked hideous! Nothing had managed to rectify his situation! Nothing had any effect on the... additions! Nothing! France shook as he thought of what his chere Anglettere would say when he saw him. Well, it was much too late to arrange for a very convenient excuse to be absent from this particular meeting. France took a deep breath and entered the room.

As the nations already present turned to see who had entered the room, in the hopes of seeing a friend they wanted to meet, or an enemy they wanted to insult (or beat up, despite it being immature), there was a moment of shocked, disbelieving silence. Then, first one, and then all the assembled nations erupted in loud, uncontrolled laughter, except Germany, who was trying very hard not to smile.

"Trying the Brits' look? It doesn't suit you, dude! You look very unfashionable." howled America as he clutched his sides, his words interspersed with laughter.

"Kesesesese! You look so unawesome!"

"Imitating the Eye-brow fucker, wine bastard?"

"Last time you were insulting me, but now you are trying to look like me? I have to tell you, 'Those caterpillars on your face are so unfashionable, you shouldn't show up in public ever.'" said England, quoting France's phrase from the previous meeting, a malicious smile gracing England's face for a single, fleeting moment.

France was mortified, to say the least. He spent the entire meeting in his chair hoping that the ground would open and swallow him up, not saying a word, his 'improved' eyebrows attracting a lot of very unwanted attention. After all, seeing eyebrows larger than Britain's was a very rare event, that had never happened before!

Some nations quietly wondered how this could be possible, as eyebrows generally did not grow so... unexpectedly.

The nation that caused so much laughter from his fellow nations, slunk to his chair and darkly glowered at anyone who was laughing. That was a very difficult task, as everyone was doing it, except Germany, who was trying to calm everyone down. However, when the next batch of nations entered the room and looked at what was causing the giggles from the nations who were sitting, the laughter started again.

France hoped that something would distract the nations from his eyebrows, and prayed to God that the distraction would come soon. In the next two minutes, for example.


	2. Chapter 2 - Stolen Book

**Disclaimer: If I owned Hetalia, I would find a way for England, Russia and China to be BFF - best friends forever, damn history and canon! They would be an awesome quartet! I can imagine it: The Tea Trio. (In Russia we drink a lot of tea. We consider it a medicine that helps cure all ailments.)**

**Posted: 4 June 2014**

**Edit: 30 June 2014**

**Edit: 1 July 2014**

**Prompt by: Thatcheerfullittlewirter**

**This chapter is based on a prompt. Thank you for it, and I hope you liked what I made of it! Also, if the thoughts are not in italicsc, blame the spell checker I use. It erases all the effects: underline, bold, etc.**

France quietly snuck out of England's huge, old manor, with a large, old-looking brown tome with gold writing on the cover in his hands. He had stolen it from England's house to annoy him, and he chose the book because it looked valuable and very important. France was very proud in achieving this feat, as the security was very tight, and only the fact that there was a small gap in the fence, that he was sure would be fixed by the nest time he tried to get in. The nation mourned the loss of the last entry point. He had no idea what it was about, as the script was unrecognisable and looked like very complicated scribbles. It did not matter to him what it was, as he just wanted to get back at England, for that blasted eyebrow curse. France did not know how England did it, but he was sure the Brit was involved in it somehow. Britain was at fault for everything wrong in the world, in France's opinion. Smirking, France took off in to the night, to get away from England as fast as he could, to hide the stolen book. He did not notice two sets of eyes following him as he escaped the silent manor just outside London and jumped in to a purple car that was very conveniently parked nearby. He drove away, confident that Angleterre would never know where his book had vanished to. Nation-hopping never occurred to him, for some reason.

"I am a page Break! It is so boring being a page break."

"England! England! Wake up!" Flying Mint Bunny woke England up with his high-pitched, currently agitated voice. England frowned as he saw it was the middle of the night, but realised that something serious must have happened, which caused the Bunny to wake him up. Bunny knew that England liked to get a good night's sleep the night before the World Conference, so that he would have more energy to deal with the irritatting/agitated/fighting/ nations the next day.

"What's wrong, Bunny?"

"The guy you call frog-face has stolen the Magica Minor, volume III. He snuck in to your house through a hole in the fence, and stole it from the table in the dining room where you left it yesterday. He has already run away! I couldn't stop him!"

"Bloody frog! Oh, I am so getting revenge! Anyway, Bunny, could you please retrieve the book for me? I am very busy, and searching for that book would waste valuable time..."

"No problem!"

France strolled through the corridor to the room of the World Conference, currently located in Paris. He had a smug, satisfied smile on his face as he thought of how annoyed Britain would look because of France's prank. The arrogant and narcissistic nation entered the room... and was immediately assaulted by a tidal wave of cats, coming from the direction of Greece, as the curse that Britain used activated.

"I am an ugly page Break! Don't look at me, please. It makes me feel very uncomfortable. Anyway, on with the story!"

Previous Night:

"... France chilide ae Gaule, dero ageriou enchante summonereli feline, qierti enere le reide le wraitege-fredere. Asereses-Asiliki, liakirda'deo!"

England finished the incantation with a relieved sigh. As he wanted something very specific to happen, the chant had to be quite detailed, but England was good at creating chants by himself, and then casting them. However, a spell that controlled this many variables required an immense amount of energy to pull of, even if the spell lasted only an hour. Orange-brown mist hung in the air, vaguely resembling a huge house-cat. The mist was moving around the room as one, huge, pulsating mass of light and magic. Britain hoped that this would work. This spell would disperse about an hour after activation - the prank that France had attempted to pull was rather minor, really, all things considered. All England had to do was cast a simple spell that summoned the book back to him, when Bunny failed to find and retrieve the book. However, Britain decided to cast the newly crafted curse anyway. Practice never hurt, after all, and when the target was so annoying and so desrving of revenge...

"Ich bin ein Page-Break, und ich sprehe sehr wenig deutsch. Mein Grammatik ist sehr schlecht, aber ich kann viel verstehen."

France was buried in a living, breathing, sea of fur. All the cats tried to get at him and lick his face, or hands. He tried to call for help, but no one could hear him from underneath the forty or so house-cats. He tried to move, but he was completely pinned down by the excited felines, all of whom wanted to lick off the very annoying-smelling perfume the man wore. Some of the cats were rather heavy, and France hoped that he wouln't be squashed to death. That would be a very embarassing way to go, and all the other nations would tease him about it till the end of days '_How did Greece even GET so many large cats here?_' France wondered absent-mindedly. He wished that someone would help him, but it seemed that all the other nations were paralysed by laughter, and unwilling to make the spectacle end. England, especially, seemed very amused, though he only smiled.


	3. Chapter 3 - Paint

**Disclaimer: Since I am writing fanfics of this fandom, it is safe to assume I do not own Hetalia, otherwise you would be seeing this as canon.**

**Published: 30 June 2014**

**Edited: 1 July 2014**

**AN**

**The previous chapters of this story have been updated and improved. Again.**

France was generally not a person who wanted, for any reason, to get splatters of paint all over his clothes.

Unless he was getting revenge. Revenge that was so desired by him, that he cared not about ruining his looks.

France was completing a very important, in his opinion, task. He was using a bucket of bright, neon pink paint to write 'I LOVE FRANCE' on the huge gate to a very old, very large manor. The manor, coincidentally, belonged to Britain.

France had finished just before mid-night, and stepped back to admire his work. In his opinion, the gate was hugely improved by this new slogan.

=I'm just an Ugly Little Page-break, please don't look at me, readers.=

England woke up at five o'clock. He always woke up early the day of the World Conference, just in case something needed fixing. He got dressed, attempted to brush his hair, but soon abandoned it as a bad job. England went in to his kitchen where he toasted some bread, fried a couple of eggs and sausages, and then ate it all, consuming a cup of tea after eating. Contrary to what the other nations thought, England was a very good cook - when he wasn't ruining his food on purpose, so that he could mildly poison unwelcome visitors. And if any of his friends turned against him, it was no big deal to alter their memories so that they also thought that his food was disgusting. Then England packed up his briefcase and got ready to leave. As he walked out of his gate, he stopped in horror. A vandal had painted the beautiful gate - and England had a very good idea of who that was. Snapping his fingers and whispering a short incantation, England cleaned his gate through magic, but the now sparkling gate did nothing to decrease his anger. Fuming, England nation-hopped to his garage, as he was in no mood to walk. There, in a dusty corner, he found something that made him smile in a very scary way. The object that he looked for was a large jar of hard-to-remove, sticky, bright, ugly, neon orange paint. Checking that the paint was still fairly runny (it was), England cast a charm on it that made the paint vanish in to a pocket dimension. Then England nation-hopped to the place where the World Conference would take place - in Ireland, this time. It was quite early; it was only seven in the morning.

He proceeded to the Conference room, and set up the curse. It was not a difficult curse, but he wanted it to activate a specific time, and only affect the target. No sense in offending someone who did nothing to him, after all.

=I am a boring ol' Page Break. Ignore me, please.=

France dashed in to the Conference room and was relieved when nothing happened. It seemed that England was either unaware of what France had done, or had been unable to set something up. After all, why would the Brit wait until enacting his revenge? France confidently strode to his seat and sat down. He opened his briefcase and pulled out the papers, checking that he had everything with him. Nothing was amiss.

10 minutes after the meeting started, and everyone except America was present, the door opened and America walked in, late as usual. He opened his mouth to speak.

" Hello dudes, why you all here so earl-"

SPLAT!

Everyone's head turned in the direction of the very wet sounding splat, as at the same moment someone started cursing up a storm in French.

"Censored Censored Britain and his Censored Censored Censored Censored! Censored Censored Censored Censored, Britain Censored Censored!"

France was sitting in his chair, swearing. He was also dripping with stinky orange paint, which clashed horribly with his clothes. France's hair was dripping with paint, and, judging by the spitting and eye-rubbing that France was doing, the paint had got in to his eyes and mouth. All in all, he was not a pretty sight. Unless you had a grudge against him.

France stood up from his chair, and tried to leap diagonally across the table to get at Britain, and choke him. No-one tried to restrain him, because they were laughing too hard, and no one wanted to the paint on themselves, in any case. But it proved to be unnecessary, as France's fought caught on the edge of the table and he crashed on to the table top. Oddly, the paint was already dry, so when France had lifted his hand to brush the hair away from his face and felt the stiff locks, he screamed in anger at the fact that his hair was now ruined by thus horrible, ugly, stinky, _sticky_ paint. Getting up, he lunged at England again, only to be stopped by a hand holding him by the back of his jacket.

"You have no proof that it had been England. Now please sit down quietly, and pay attention to the meeting. And that goes for everyone else, as well." It turned out that it was Germany who was restraining France.

France realized that it was true that he had no proof, but deep in his bones he felt that it was true that it was Britain's fault. All the other nations, however, had quietened down and were now waiting for the meeting to resume, so France had no other option other than sit down and not say a word.

However, whether any nation looked at him during that meeting, the nation lost their concentration, and had to spend the next couple of minutes restraining themselves from laughing, giggling or smiling. Still, throughout that meeting all the nations except France were in an unusually good mood.


	4. Chapter 4 - The SMELL

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. If I did, there would be more female nations. **

**In his version of 'Marukaite Chikyuu' England states "I know you all say I can't cook, but I just do it on purpose". Published: 26 July 2014**

England was sitting in a G7 meeting, staring at nothing. As usual, nothing was being achieved: France was being perverted and touching everyone in reach except Russia, Russia was smiling at everyone and trying to stay as far away from the door as possible, Germany kept trying to bring back order, Italy was cooking pasta ("How did he even get the stuff here?" thought England), America was shouting and eating burgers simultaneously, Japan was trying to escape France, Belarus was scratching at the door from outside, and he, Britain, was looking at nothing and thinking about how stupid and useless these meetings were. Britain quietly sighed, but apparently the sigh was not quiet enough to not attract the attention of France. The perverted nation switched his attention from Japan to Britain.

"You are sighing Angleterre? Are you jealous of my cooking skills? Thinking of how much better I am at it than you are? Or maybe you are wishing that we were in a private place right now?" France smirked. He wanted to annoy Britain (and get him in to his bed, but it did not seem that than would ever happen).

Britain frowned. France had been making jabs about his cooking all day long. He wondered if revealing his actual cooking skills would make the frog shut up, but decided against it. The stupid ponce would probably find another topic to use against Britain.

"You don't have a retort against me? How unusual, Angleterre. Have you finally ran out of insults?" Britain decided not to reply. After all, what was the point? The frog would just continue insulting him. So Britain sighed, and looked at the clock, hoping that the meeting would come to an end soon. "Angleterre? Is something wrong? Why aren't you saying something?" France wondered why the Brit was not reacting to the insults like usual. Wondering whether the guy was just not paying attention, he considered trying to poke him, but decided against it. He did not want a repeat of the 'Fingers=Noodles' event. Sighing, France turned back to torment Japan.

'Hello. My name is Canada. I am an unnoticed page-break'

After the meeting, France decided that he wanted to annoy England. For no particular reason, except that England had ignored the amazing, beautiful him for the entire meeting! So France went in to perfume shop near-by. The meeting was hosted in Paris this time, so France knew the place well. There, France bought a bottle of the sweetest, most annoying and strong perfume he could find in the entire shop. Winking at passers-bye, France went to a small alleyway where there were no people, and then he nation-hopped to England's house. Or at least, to the pavement in front of the gate. Somehow, and France had no idea how, England had managed to block nation-hoppers from appearing on his grounds. England had also put up a high gate, with spikes on top, and various alarm and security systems all around his grounds, to protect them from various annoying and intruding nations. The defence was good enough to keep out even the most determined nation, but France had known that already. Still, it never hurt to check. Finding no holes in the security, France resolved to wait until the next World Conference, which was in three days, to carry out his plan.

-I'm a PAGE BREAK! LOOK AT ME, LOOK AT ME, I AM SO AWESOME!-

England was fuming in his house, after he had managed to get rid of the stink. During the world meeting, France managed to pour a whole bottle of disgusting perfume all over England, and now England was very, very angry. He was a little less angry than half an hour ago, as he no longer smelt like he just swam in a pool of erfume, but he was still pissed off. England wanted revenge.

Looking through his magic books, England found an easy, simple potion that was would be perfect, coupled with a spell or two, and a few minor adjustments. Fortunately, the second day of the World Conference was tomorrow, so he would not have to wait. Two hours later, the potion was done, had all the enchantments applied to it, and was mixed in to all the beauty products that France had with him – England was lucky that France was the host this month.

-La la la la la la… I'm a page break… La la la la la la la… Just ignore me…-

France noticed that people were not coming closer than 3m to him, but he had no time to wonder why - he was hurrying to the Conference room. He had overslept a little, and if he stopped to think, he would be late – and that would not do. He was not America, after all. France ran in to the room just in time, and quickly took his seat. As he looked around, he wondered why all the nations were trying to get as far away as they could from him, and why they were breathing through handkerchiefs or sleeves, and scooting away from him. By their behaviour he assumed that there was some smell on him, but he had no idea what it was.

-Page Break-

England smiled behind his handkerchief. His plan had worked perfectly, and France had no idea that at the moment he smelt like a mix of a rubbish dump, a huge pile of rotten fruit and fish, and old socks. The potion, which he had used, was to cure boils. The potion, however, also had a very nasty smell. So England had enchanted the potion to have a stronger and infinitely more noticeable smell, as well as not being able to be smelt by France. Then Germany inquired France about what the latter had done to smell so bad.


End file.
